‘Did I not warn you that he would slip through your fingers if you did not marry him?’
‘Mama, he did not slip through my fingers. He died!’
‘Tsk, tsk, there is no need to shout. All I am saying is that you need to choose your husbands with more care. At least select a man who is likely to live. First Ivan, now this Alexander.’
‘His name was Alastair. As I’ve told you many times before.’
‘What does it matter what his name was?’ Liliya said with an indifferent shrug. ‘He’s gone, and now you must find somebody new to support you. Why not try a Russian again? A handsome man moved in to the penthouse apartment a few weeks ago, and he drives a beautiful car. I believe he travels a lot, so he wouldn’t be any trouble to you? And wouldn’t it be perfect, if you lived right here in the same apartment block with me?’
Valentina could think of nothing worse.
Oh yes, she could. Being stuck in dreary old England with Alastair’s boring, shallow-minded friends, that would be so much worse!
It pained her to admit it, but she had misjudged Alastair and his commitment to her. And more importantly, she had misjudged her plan to win him for herself through a process of divide and conquer. By alienating his friends – by having them gang up on her – she had assumed Alastair would take her side and see that they did not truly have his happiness at heart, only their own.
Happiness …it was so elusive, like trying to catch a butterfly. For a short time she had been wildly happy. That was when she had first met Alastair, when she had come to his rescue. She smiled at the memory, remembering how much she had enjoyed herself in those early days of getting to know this charming Englishman. How simple it had all been, the two of them spending their days on the beach, and before too long, their nights in bed together.
With his engaging vulnerability – he wore his widowhood lightly, but it was there all the same, an underlying note of unhappiness that occasionally made itself known – she had taken him under her wing with ease.
For that brief time, when she knew he was in thrall to her, she had been a completely different person, freer and full of dreams. She had loved him for that, for giving her that gift.
But that gift had been snatched away from her, along with all her dreams. No more south of France. No more dreaming of castles in the air.
Her forehead resting against the cool glass of the window, she sighed. Her plan had so very nearly worked, but then Nikolai and Irina had ruined everything. She should never have encouraged them to visit.
And now she was back to square one, having resumed work as an interpreter in Paris, on the pretext that she needed to be occupied after losing the man she loved. The reality was, she needed the money.
Down on the street below, she saw the headlamps of a large, shiny black car sweep into a space directly in front of the apartment block. In the light cast from the street lamp, she could see the car was a Bentley. The driver pushed open the door and stepped onto the pavement, a mobile phone pressed to his left ear. At this distance, four floors up, she couldn’t get a good look at his face, but his silvery hair was thick and wavy. Tastefully dressed in a dark suit and a smart overcoat, he approached the entrance to the apartment block with a purposeful stride, coupled with an unmistakable air of possession. Here was a man who knew what he was about.
‘What car does the new owner of the penthouse drive, Mama?’ she asked, now that the man had disappeared from view.
Her mother came and joined her at the window. She looked down on to the street. ‘That car,’ she said, pointing with her well-manicured forefinger. ‘That is the one he drives. And now, my littlemalyshka, I suppose you would like me to invite him in for tea one day? Or maybe an aperitif?’
‘I see no reason not to be a good neighbour,’ Valentina said, absently.
‘No reason at all,’ agreed Liliya, pulling the curtains across. ‘Leave it to me.’
As one door closes, another always opens. That was what Alastair had often said to her. It was Valentina’s avowed belief too.
Chapter Sixty-Five
‘You’ve just missed my mother,’ Blake said as he passed Jenna a mug of tea, ‘apparently she had something urgent she had to rush out and do.’
‘Whyapparently?’
‘I think she thought we’d want some time alone.’
‘Did she indeed? Or was it you who suggested she went out?’ Jenna asked.
‘Why, Lawyer Girl, what a suspicious mind you have.’
She smiled. ‘With you, Blake, I find that’s the best way to be.’
He smiled too, and then pointed towards the sofa across the kitchen. ‘Shall we?’
‘Would you mind if we went out on the balcony instead? I love the view from up there.’
‘Are you sure you won’t be too cold?’
